


One Fine Day

by vinegardog



Category: Farscape
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 16:26:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinegardog/pseuds/vinegardog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tensions flare on Moya and John snaps</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Fine Day

Setting: A couple of weekens after Coup by Clam and just before Unrealized Reality in S4

Spoilers: Some vague ones up to UR

Warning: fluff, maybe some mild angst, is normally my comfort zone when writing, so bitter and hurtful rivalry as called for by the challenge was a hard topic to tackle. I feel I have probably failed miserably but at least I tried and I enjoyed trying, so thanks M1812L for getting me out of my fluffy cocoon (into which I plan to crawl back as soon as this is posted).

Rated PG-13 for some bad language and nastiness

Disclaimer: characters as always are not mine, I apologise to them and their wonderful creators for the mistreatment. On this occasion a special apology goes to John Crichton. However I suspect that, by now,he might know he really is one of my favourites, hence the continuous manhandling!

My profuse thanks go to my beta on this, A Damned Scientist, who once again waded through my desperate lack of punctuation and grammatical nightmares and somehow survived. Thanks ADS for all of your insights, advice and invaluable corrections! 

My thanks also to MarieYotz for her constant willingness to lend a friendly ear and to Arevhat for her encouragement and for her invaluable opinions, especially when it comes to Chiana, who, I admit, I write with great trepidation.

Word count: 4354

One Fine Day 

The new radiation filters had made travelling through Tormented Space a whole new proposition. A more pleasant proposition, if pleasant could be applied to the area. A smoother ride also meant smoother more restful night cycles and less tense day cycles…or so one would expect.

Pilot, however, had been the only one who had finally been able to relax. He felt Moya's gratitude and relief as well as her renewed joy in flying through space, tormented or otherwise, as if they were his own and it made him happy.

As for most of the others of Moya's inhabitants, after the unpleasant and almost fatal encounter with Dr Tuumi and his qatal mollusks, they had finally returned to their normal state of being. No more neural links, mutual dependency and interchanged feelings, each crew member was now back to her or his own individual self…which, although a relief, by no means translated into peace of mind or happy co-existence. Snide remarks had flown around for the last few solar days, making the air thick with tension and unhappiness. Moods had flared and tension was palpable at every gathering of two or more shipmates. Unless forced together by unavoidable rotation duties, they carefully avoided each other. With Scarrans and Peacekeepers both on their tail and trail, nobody could really see a viable happy ending to their current nightmare, which of course was not helping the slowly expanding vitriolic mood of alienation and frustration aboard ship.

Rygel and Sikozu in particular had not pulled any punches after their respective neural interlink experience with Aeryn and John.

There was no first, second or third meal that would go by without Rygel needling and provoking Aeryn. Oh, he made sure to do it outside of Crichton’s earshot of course, which these days was an easy thing to do since the human seemed to avoid the ex-Peacekeeper like a flesh eating virus. The reason for his relentless needling was mainly boredom. Rygel was bored, and the only mild relief he got from it was by being aggravating and hurtful. That was Rygel. They all knew him only too well, they were all used to his ways, which was why Aeryn had put up with his taunts remarkably patiently for a short while until they had become too much and had cut too close to the bone - to use one of Crichton’s expressions – focused as they were around her apparently unrequited feelings for the standoffish human. Rygel’s taunts were all slight variations on the following refrain:

“So, Crichton has seen the light? He has finally realised how truly dull you are! How does that feel, Aeryn? Oh no, wait, you don’t need to tell me, I felt how that felt!” a snort or a sneer at this point was the usual accompaniment to his words. “Your single, puny stomach sinks every time he looks at you, even though it is quite evident he does that with reluctance and only when absolutely necessary. How pathetic do you think that rates on a scale from one to 30? I think 28 would be an accurate guess! Bet you now wish you had met your death while assassinating innocent people, eh?” And so on and so forth to the point that Aeryn had now resorted to avoiding the unbearably cruel, jeering Hynerian with single minded peacekeeper determination.

Sikozu on the other hand, although as hurtful, had taken a more scientific and logical approach to her torture of John. Her intentions were not really aimed at wounding but more at forcing John to see what, in her eyes, was the only viable path to the defeat of the Scarrans. 

Whenever alone in his presence, while changing shifts on Command or passing him along the corridor that led to Scorpius’s cell during his frequent, neurotic checks on the hybrid, she would block his way and just stare him down before launching in her undeniable, almost mathematical arguments: 

“I know how you feel about Aeryn, Crichton. Although I personally find it quite pitiful! You should get over your impractical feelings for her and dedicate yourself to more useful endeavours. I have felt your stomach flutter whenever she walks into a room. You are wasting your energy and resources. What you really should be doing instead, is finding a way to trust Scorpius and co-operating with him by sharing your wormhole knowledge. Forget Aeryn and concentrate on what really matters! Scorpius can help all of us but you seem too blind or too stupid to comprehend it.” 

At first he would accept her challenges and impassively listen while staring back at her in defiance, the sarcastic and scornful look that had taken residence on his face more often than not in the last few monens since Arnessk and Aeryn's return to Moya with Scorpius in tow, firmly plastered in place. However, of late, he too had taken to avoiding Sikozu like a life threatening pestilence. He had thought it would be easy on a ship as vast as Moya, but no, the Kalish and her cutting remarks seemed to find him wherever he tried to hide, hitting hard and leaving an invisible but all too real mark on his soul.

As for the others, D’Argo just simply tried to avoid Noranti whenever possible, the memory of her too vivid enjoyment of their recent ordeal a decisively unwelcome guest in the Luxan’s head. There was no real will to hurt or upset on his part, just a deeply ingrained wish to see her, and smell her, as little as possible. 

Chiana, almost as bored as Rygel, feeling off-sorts and a smidge left out not knowing exactly what the others had lived through, just passed the time by annoying everybody else without specific focus, the chosen victim being whoever took her fancy at any particular moment of the solar day or whoever was unfortunate enough to cross her path. Flitting from one to the other, her actions only helped to exacerbate the other feelings of animosity and badly concealed hostilityalready brewing very close to the surface.

After two weekens of ripening tensions and vicious undercurrents even Pilot, confined to his den, had realised that strains and attentions needed to be relieved and diverted: Moya was fast becoming a powder keg inhabited by flammable objects. To his relief, long range scans had shown a planet a few arns away where fresh water and common enough vegetation seemed to be available. That might mean fresh produce being sold or exchanged in a market town, a welcome break from the aimless space wandering they had experienced recently. After consulting D’Argo, who had wholeheartedly and enthusiastically agreed that a break was needed by all and sundry, Pilot had set a course and estimated the distance to destination at approximately three arns at sustained speed.

Three arns, which had been spent by the crew mostly bickering as to who would stay to look after Scorpius and who would get to enjoy some much needed fresh air.

Given the general black humour, the ride down to the planet in Moya's pod had been an edgy affair – it had started with Rygel zooming in and expecting to take the controls only to be shoved out of the way by a surly Crichton and then being taunted for it by Chiana. D’Argo, in the interests of peace, had settled for the co-pilot seat while Noranti, singing out of tune to herself and wafting unpleasant, indescribable odours tragically enhanced for the others by the restricted space in the pod, had brought up the rear and taken a standing position beside Chiana and Rygel in back.

Having only recently completed a full feeding and therefore being uninterested in food or other possible meaningless trinkets, Sikozu unsurprisingly had opted to stay behind on Moya with Scorpius. Aeryn, pragmatically putting an end to the arguing, had also finally volunteered to stay behind to keep an eye on the hybrid. Her offer had been promptly and hurtfully accepted by John, who had then barely glanced at her on his way to the pod, merely muttering a halfhearted “Thanks” under his breath in her direction.

Having contacted the local authorities and having been given coordinates for their landing, they had all, harmoniously for once, decided to take four arns of free time to explore, shop and finally enjoy some breathing space away from each other. By all means a fine plan. As per their usual luck however it was immediately thwarted on their arrival when local law enforcers informed them that, without exception, visiting strangers were only allowed into the local town in groups and under strict escort. No untoward behaviour would be accepted under penalty of immediate expulsion from the town and planet.

“Great! Stuck with y’all again! I must have been a mass murderer in a previous life to deserve this!” John had mumbled loud enough for the others to hear but low enough for most to be able to ignore it, with the obvious exception of Rygel.

“You have enough kills on record to be called one in this life too, Crichton” the Hynerian had smirked knowing how touchy of a subject that was with the Human and only too happy to take up the chance to annoy John since his latest preferred target, Aeryn, was not available.

“Yeah, Fluffy, you reckon so? How about I put one more under my belt before the day is over? You smug little piece of dren!” John had taken two menacing steps towards him and one more when Rygel had continued:

“You and your whimpering threats are laughable! You don't have the mivonks to carry them through!”

D’Argo, on this occasion, had been quick enough to grab John’s arm dragging him away just before he could get his hands around Rygel’s neck, who, for good measure, had made sure to hover up high well out of reach, just in case.

Having had to accept the terms imposed by the locals, after a short, silent walk shadowed by three local goons, they had found themselves in the centre of a pretty meagre local market. The stalls were almost bare – a few local wilted looking vegetables, some knick knacks of no value, some rough looking handmade clothes were all that could be seen.

“Nothing even worth snurching…” Chiana had muttered, desolately looking around and pretty much faultlessly summing up the state of affairs.

Despite their lack of interest in any of the wares but to prolong for a few moments their slightly enhanced freedom planetside, they had resigned themselves to trail after Noranti. With unerring enthusiasm, she had taken to hu-ing and ha-ing at some purple coloured roots she declared that she had not come across in at least 78 cycles or maybe more like 128 cycles, she was not too clear on that part “Not that it matters really…” she had chuckled to herself.

She had then turned to the others and proclaimed: “These will make the stew for third meal truly delicious, mhmm, a veritable feast indeed, you will see! You are going to be treated to a delicacy like no other. Traskans call these merka’al roots…what a delightful find!” Her third eye flaring vermilion with either expectation or mischief, she had been completely unfazed by the total lack of enthusiasm or even interest shown by her four travelling companions.

Despite her good intentions and certainly completely unwittingly, Noranti, the only cheery one of the party, ended up being the cause of what would turn out to be one of the lowest points of their shared lives, and certainly of John Crichton’s.

The old woman had been rooting to the very bottom of one of the greengrocer’s baskets trying to find some more of the wondrous merka'al roots. In the process she had discarded other vegetables of various sizes and colours until finally reaching a round opalescent object, which, also dismissed as not being of any cooking value, she had carelessly thrown behind her. The object had thudded to the ground and rolled a little way before stopping against Chiana’s black boot. Three sets of eyes – Human, Nebari and Hynerian - had at first disinterestedly followed its rolling course but had abruptly opened in wonder when, coming to a stop, the spherehad seemed to suddenly turn into a ball of molten lava – orange, red, yellow, purple and golden glittering bursts of light laced by arsenic- grey sparkles erupted from the very core of it in mesmerising fashion. 

Almost as one John, Chiana and Rygel decided it had to be theirs and theirs alone. In this drab setting, after weekens of exasperation, simmering resentment and space claustrophobia complemented by the disappointment of the rest of their visit planetside, this object appeared to them as a beacon of hope and beauty, something to be coveted and possessed no matter what. Boredom of course played a very large part in this inexplicable perception but not one of the threewould ever, then or later, admit to it.

Being the closest, Chiana swiftly bent down to pick the shimmering thing up but, before her gloved hand could fully close around it, Rygel rammed her out of the way with his thronesled. However, before his own grabby little hands could reach it, he too was left empty handed when John managed to kick the sphere like a football out of his reach and then jump on top of it with a satisfied and defiant “Ha!” towards his rivals. Rygel snarled, Chiana, quick and lithe as a cat, jumped on John’s back to get the item back until all three of them froze in place at D’Argo’s mighty bellow:

“Stop! What is the matter with you frelniks? Why are you arguing over a useless Langaran lizard egg? It has no value and if it breaks, the smell will be worse than…” he side glanced at Noranti, whose name he had been about to use as an apt example for the end of the sentence. He diplomatically opted instead for "Moya's Hodian Trill bat faeces pool!”

“He is right, you know!” Noranti interjected, oblivious to D'Argo's last microt show of tact. “That egg is no longer viable and would be quite bitter to the palate if eaten raw and completely inedible if cooked. Besides Langaran lizard eggs are at their best when half the size and slightly pink…”

“Oh shut up old woman, I..I..don’t want to eat it!” Chiana snapped “I just want it because…because its colours are pretty and …I just want it!”

“Speak for yourself, silly tralk, I knew it was just an egg” Rygel lied “and I do want to eat it! It is food and food is for eating, even simple minds like yours should be able to comprehend that concept, I am sure!”

“Well, Fluffy, you ain’t eating this and Chi, you are not havin’ it! I got it fair and square. It’s mine, argument over!” John stubbornly underlined his point by shoving the egg inside his coat.

The commotion, added to the obvious lack of interest in spending any currency shown by the visitors, convinced the local escorts that these strangers were not worth their time and effort. They therefore quickly herded the nuisances back to their pod ignoring their halfhearted protestations and sent them back on their merry way without a second thought.

The short journey back to Moya was even tenser than the one down to the planet had been. A soft snarling from Rygel and heavy, disdainful looks from Chiana were blatantly ignored by John who, piloting the pod with one hand, made damn sure to hold on to the egg in his coat with the other.

Once back in the landing bay, while John was completing the required powering off procedures, D’Argo strode out, intent on getting as much distance as possible between himself and the maddening bunch of morons. However he was stopped just outside the pod by Aeryn, who, alerted by Pilot of the early return of the others, had made her way to tier five and was waiting anxiously to find out why they were back so soon after departure. 

“D’Argo, wait! What happened down there?”

“What happened? I will tell you what happened! Crichton seems to have lost his mind and Chiana and Rygel are not far behind him!” the Luxan hissed.

“Maybe I should talk to him, he has been in a weird mood lately… it might help if I …” she let the sentence peter out while uncharacteristically biting her bottom lip with uncertainty and doubt as to the best course of action.

D’Argo snorted “You try if you want, Aeryn, but I doubt that you, of all people, will get anywhere with him!” With that, he walked away.

Still in two minds as to what to do, Aeryn watched Chiana come down the stairs of the pod next. The Nebari barely spared her a glance while snarling in passing: 

“Your boyfriend is a twisted, selfish slijnot!”

“He is not my boyfriend…” Aeryn protested weakly, wishing in her heart of hearts exactly the opposite, but Chiana had already exited the room without bothering to listen.

Rygel came next followed closely by Noranti happily holding a bunch of roots. He sped by Aeryn in his thronesled menacingly muttering loud enough to be heard saying:

“He will have to sleep sooner or later and when he does, this Dominar will make him pay! Arrogant, ugly frellwit from a backwater little drenhole of a planet!”

Finally, after another couple of hundred microts, John emerged and, pretending not to see Aeryn, who was patiently waiting for him, he attempted to go by her without actually having to make conversation. Against his better judgement though, he stopped and half turned towards her when he heard her ask:

“Why are you acting the drannit, John?”

“The drannit? I have no idea what a drannit is, Aeryn!” He snapped back.

“Yes, you do! You’ve already asked me what a drannit is and I have already explained it to you,so don’t pretend….” Her voice trailed off when realisation dawned on her that the enlightenment given had not been to this John, on this Leviathan but to the other one, a lifetime ago on Talyn.

When he heard her stop mid-sentence and saw her stand stock still, with a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look about her, a cruel smirk spread across his face and with surgical precision and apparent calm he drawled:

“Oh I see! You told HIM about drannits! Well, Aeryn, there is something else you might not have considered and that's that HE might have given a rat’s ass. I don’t!” He turned and at least on the surface he calmly walked out of the cargo bay but not before catching the bloom of pain in Aeryn’s eyes, matching the one now restricting his own throat.

Fed up and mentally kicking himself for being such a bastard, he headed for his quarters. Lost in thought he barely noticed Chiana waiting for him semi-hidden in one of Moya's shadowy recesses. When she stepped forward to stop him, he tried to go around her but, quick as a cat, she mirrored his feint, once, twice until he finally stood still and hissed:

“Pip, this is not the time or place, move out of my way or else…”

“Or else, what Crichton?” She challenged him “You are going…you are going to insult me?” She snorted, clearly letting him know that his worst effort at rudeness would be wasted on her. “Or what?” She kept defying him “Are you going to beat me up? I want that egg, I saw it first and I am not going to have...have you walk away with it, I...I want it!” She childishly stomped her foot on the floor to underline her statement.

“Chiana, move out of my way now! Just get it into that pretty, pale head of yours:you can’t have everything you want, full stop!”

“Yes, I can and I will!”

“Yeah?” He aggressively stepped up right into her face forcing her back into the recess she had appeared out of just microts before “ Did you get enough of what you wanted at that casino a couple of monens ago after you ripped them off at that cheat-proof game? Huh? Did you, Chiana? Answer me!”

With his face now almost touching hers, he could not but see in almost excruciatingly slow motion the rapid blinking and the surge of panic in her eyes followed a split microt later by her actual physical recoil at the mental blow he had just cruelly imparted.

Speechless, Chiana shook her head once as if the shaking of it might somehow change the meaning of what she had just heard, almost unable to believe that John would, in such a cavalier manner, throw back in her face such a raw episode of her life that she had shared with him out of trust and affection. Powerless, no matter how hard she tried, to stop tears flooding her coal black eyes, she sorrowfully looked for the longest of microts at the cruel stranger standing just a few denches away from her before wordlessly slipping by him and running away, the silly egg all but forgotten.

Red hot guilt burned John’s eyes and automatically his hand went to his pocket searching for the familiar and comforting shape of a lakka bulb. No luck, he had used the last handy one a couple of arns earlier when forced to share the room with Aeryn while discussing the visit to the planet. More bulbs were safely hidden away in his quarters, so with a weary sigh and a tired swipe of his hand across his face, he forced himself to move from the damned spot of his triumphant exploit against Chiana, feeling, almost agonisingly, the need for privacy and a top-up of memory-relieving lakka.

Just a couple of tiers away, disgusted at the temporary loss of the coveted trophy, Rygel had retired to his quarters with the main intent of plotting an egg-conquering campaign against John. However, before long, the effort of the scheming had set his three stomachs rumbling and convinced him to postpone his revenge plans until after a plentiful feed, maybe enhanced by the roots the old woman had so enthusiastically praised? His timing however turned out to be rotten. He had just about reached the end of the sleeping tier corridor heading towards Centre Chamber, when he found himself facing John, proceeding in the opposite direction and making a beeline for the sanctuary of his own room.

Still burning with indignation at the human, Rygel intimated in his best I-am-a-Dominar-of-sixty-billion-people supercilious tone of voice: 

“Get out of my way, you frelling probakto!” and intentionally drove his thronesled into John’s side in passing. Before even realising what had happened, Rygel found himself lifted off by the neck and slammed against a bulkhead, John’s hands getting tighter and tighter around him, their strength fuelled almost to superhuman levels by rage, guilt, disgust and deep shame.

For a few terrifying microts blood pumped unnaturally through John’s body blurring his vision and numbing his reason. Only when Rygel, attempting in vain with his own small hands to loosen the iron grip constricting his neck, managed to rasp through swollen lips “Let… go…you are…you are…choking me!”, John finally let go of the Hynerian, who slumped sideways coughing and spluttering. Rage still coursing through his body, he plucked the egg from inside his coat and yelled in an unrecognisable voice:

“ You want this? You can fucking have it!” and with that John threw it forcefully in Rygel’s direction, missing his head by a mere hairbreadth. The egg smashed against one of Moya's ribs, the outer shell shattering and falling to the ground in pieces, the soft centre sliding down the bronze wall in a gooey, smelly mess.

___________________________________________________________ _________________________________________

No more than 800 microts later John Crichton floated in the restful void of space. Moya's mass a living, reassuring presence behind him. Aeryn’s eyes, heavy with pensive worry were fixed on his back through the main viewing screen on Command.

He had had no choice but to leave the artificial gravity of Moya's womb where the weight of self-loathing risked to grind him down and suffocate him. 

The lakka was now once again coursing through his veins lending him a measure of calm, albeit false and all too fleeting. John Crichton gently drifted in the vastness surrounding him and thought of his heroic deeds.

He had almost killed Rygel, a loudmouth pain in the ass, no argument there, but also a weaker, pretty defenceless being. Rygel, without doubt, would make him pay for it for a long while, but being wiser than most gave him credit for, he would also eventually get past the affront received and let him off the hook when it most suited him.

He had deeply hurt Chiana, whom he loved like a sister.The one person he wished probably above all others to wrap in cotton wool to shield and protect from the horrors of this universe, for some of which, he knew beyond doubt, he was already too late. He knew that Chiana, being Chiana, would soon forgive him.

And of course he had being intentionally cruel to the woman who held his heart and soul. He had seen the pain of past and present bloom in her eyes because of his gratuitous harshness. Aeryn too would forgive him… hell...Aeryn had probably already forgiven him!

He was honest enough to know he didn’t deserve their leniency and understanding. He also knew that he would gratefully accept the gifts born of their generosity because that was all he could count on to maintain his sanity. But their bigheartedness did not change the fact that he had learnt nothing. Almost 30 years later and he was as mean-spirited and spiteful as he had been at the age of 7 when he had bloodied Marty Goldstein’s nose for taking his bike. 

John Crichton floated alone in space, and self-loathing, wishing more than anything for a wormhole to open up and swallow him.

 

The End


End file.
